


Not even close

by EyreToSnowdrop



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Beta Read, Some Swearing, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyreToSnowdrop/pseuds/EyreToSnowdrop
Summary: After a night of heavy partying and accidentally locking himself out, a very drunk Thomas finds himself at Minho's door looking to crash over. Only it isn't Minho that answers but Newt, his roommate who already struggles to maintain friendly relations with Thomas when they're both sober.Thomas just wants to sleep.Newt just wants to study.Can't be that hard getting along for the night...
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

"Shh---uck," Thomas slurred. He turned out the pockets of his jacket and his jeans. No sign of his keys to be found. He felt like beating down the door to his dorm room and although he certainly had the rage for it, his energy levels were dangerously low and all he really wanted was to go to sleep. It took him ten minutes - and two wrong attempts - to find the door of his best mate, and his only plan B.

He knocked loudly on it twice. Nothing for several minutes. He leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. After another minute he lifted his fist to pound on the wood again, but just as his hand came down the door opened and Thomas stumbled forward a step. He straightened again in a second and nearly groaned at the sight before him.

Not his friend. Not even close.

"Where's Minho?" Thomas barely mumbled out in his exhaustion.

The blonde boy standing before him, who seemed even taller than usual in Thomas's distorted state, was frowning deeply, "The bloody hell would I know; he went out with you tonight didn'he."

He didn't say it as a question, more like an accusation. Thomas covered his face with a hand in frustration, he'd been sure Minho would have been home by now. _Although knowing Minho_... It didn't make all that much sense come to think of it.

"Well," the British boy still standing on the inside of the doorway said with unmasked annoyance, "have a nice night."

He made to close the door but Thomas launched an arm out - far too quickly - to halt it, "Can I wait in here till he gets back?"

"Why?"

"I locked myself out."

Newt's face was unreadable for a moment, then he closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh, muttering under his breath, "Why is this my problem now?"

Thomas would've been more annoyed, if he wasn't on the verge of passing out right there at the feet of one of his least favourite people on earth, and that didn't seem appealing, "Please, Newt."

Newt opened his eyes and looked at Thomas quickly, almost as though the mention of his own name was shocking to hear. He didn't say anything, but pushed the door open wider and moved aside to let Thomas in. Thomas lumbered through the doorway and set off towards Minho's room without a word of thanks.

"I won't be bloody babysitting though, alright!" He heard Newt say as the door closed and the lock clicked in, then, "And don't bother me while I'm studying!"

His shouts receded quickly as Thomas made his way down the hall.

* * *

There was a glass of water on Minho's bedside table when Thomas woke up. He didn't remember going to the kitchen. Nonetheless, he reached over with what little strength he had and gulped it all down. There was an alarm clock on the table too. It blinked 02:42 in the darkness and Thomas realized Minho wouldn't be coming back tonight. He thought, in his slightly more sober state of mind, that he ought to find some sort of painkiller. He moved to the kitchen, being careful not to slam any doors along the way so as not to wake Newt. As much as they got underneath each other's skin whenever Minho forced a group situation upon the three of them, he had helped Thomas when he had no obligation to. He was surprised to find that the kitchen was not completely dark. A light through the doorway gave Thomas enough vision to locate the medicine cabinet, grab an aspirin and pour another glass of water. He then walked through the lit doorway to find the source and, most surprisingly, it was the table lamp on Newt's desk. Newt sat statue-like at it, bent over a thin book; computer on and opened to a Wikipedia page Thomas couldn't quite read from his distance. He walked silently over to the couch and sat down. Newt noticed, and looked from the book to Thomas for half a second, then returned to his work. Thomas took the aspirin and laid back on the couch, not keen on retreating back into the solitude of Minho's room just yet for some reason he couldn't fathom.

Every few minutes Newt clicked the keyboard or turned a page. He had a cup of something that wasn't steaming anymore on his desk, which he drank from so infrequently Thomas couldn't imagine it was still warm. It was after an estimated half an hour of silence that Thomas stopped looking at all the things Newt was doing and rather started looking at Newt. How he swivelled his chair slightly to the right, unknowingly moving his face into a better light. Now Thomas could see the thin-rimmed circular spectacles perched on Newt's nose and drooping eyes behind them; even the faint bags forming just underneath. The way he shifted loose pages from one hand to the other like that would suddenly make sense of them. Thomas tried not to pay any mind to the way his breathing just so slightly hastened when the other boy dragged a hand through his dirty blonde hair, tugging on the shaggy ends as though he was absentmindedly considering whether or not it had grown too long. Thomas tried especially hard not to pay any heed to the mop in question that clung in a messy frame to Newt's face: the dishevelled, untamed, 3am hair, and was he hungover or would he almost say Newt looked-

"Tommy?"

Thomas jumped; Newt noticed, "What are you staring at?"

Thomas blinked and averted his eyes. He knew Newt was looking right at him now. What the hell was he supposed to say?

"I told you not to call me that." He was changing the subject. Not his smoothest move. The snark sounded more like anger, when really he was just flustered, and he hoped more than anything that Newt wouldn't notice. Neither said a word for what felt to Thomas like an awkwardly stretched out amount of time. Then Thomas heard the squeak of Newt's chair as he turned back around, no argument made.


	2. Chapter 2

At some point in the silence, Thomas could feel his eyelids beginning to slowly droop again as he lay on the couch in Minho and Newt's shadowy living room. The soft rustle of pages and the tap of a keyboard soothed Thomas into sleep once more.

It felt like he'd been resting no more than five seconds when a high pitched whistle began screeching to his right. His eyes snapped open to a room far too bright and loud to accommodate the hangover currently engaging a vicious onslaught on his senses. Thomas closed his eyes again, adjusting to the early morning light streaming in and pushed himself up with his elbows into a hunched sitting position. The kitchen to his right emitted faint clinking noises - a spoon being stirred in a teacup - and after a minute, Newt pushed his way through the door, backwards. His left hand was occupied with holding open a book at eye level, while his right lifted a fresh cup of coffee to his lips; Thomas could smell the enticing drink from across the room. Newt glanced up at Thomas for a moment.

"Alright there?" Newt said, immediately drawing his attention back to the novel in hand. He didn't appear to expect an answer as he turned down the hall and made his way to his bedroom, punctuating the interaction with the loud thud of his door.

The solitary moment of peace Thomas had felt as his senses took in the sunlight dancing on the walls of the apartment and the smell of fresh coffee was shattered in an instant, and the slamming door only brought the headache that had been looming at the edges of Thomas's brain from the moment he woke up, to the forefront. The pain was bearable though, Thomas thought as he gently rubbed his temples with two fingers each, and tried to concern himself with some vaguely important reminder shouting from the back of his mind, that he couldn't quite shake. There was something he was meant to remember, but he hadn't a clue what that was.

 _Ah well_ , Thomas finally resigned himself, _If it was important, I would've remembered it._

Thomas then clasped his hands together above his head, and stretched to the ceiling, shifting the muscles in his shoulders and only slightly regretting falling asleep on Minho's falling-apart-at-the-seams discount couch. It was something Minho had bought for himself nearly three years ago with one of his first paychecks. What he hadn't realised at the time of purchase, however, was exactly how long he and Thomas would have to spend on the floor of Minho's childhood bedroom assembling the - ultimately uncomfortable and creaky - piece of furniture. Minho had called Newt up after several hours had already passed, when even Thomas had admitted defeat in attempting to understand the tome of instructions, helpfully laid out in at least fourteen different languages; of which, English was not one.

"Absolutely not," had been Newt's definite reply, followed by silence as he hung up the phone, before further begging on Minho's part could take place.

At the time, Thomas must have cursed Newt out, muttered something along the lines of, "And you ask me why I don't like that guy." Thomas only knew this because he had repeated similar complaints an infinite amount of times over the last five years, though he could not remember the details of the specific conversation with Minho that had followed after that phone call. All he thought of, as he walked towards the kitchen and refilled the now empty coffee pot, was how proud the two of them had been once the cursed contraption they had constructed of wood and defiant rage was finally completed... And how close they came to setting it alight when it became clear how little space there actually was in Minho's room for a full size couch.

Newt definitely wasn't happy to hear visiting Minho would now require climbing over a hideous and shoddily built sofa, piled with every throw pillow Minho could get his hands on, to make sitting on it at all bearable. He also wasn't too pleased at the later prospect of having to live with the rickety thing when he and Minho became roommates their first year at uni.

Now, as Thomas leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil while he rubbed leftover sleep out of his right eye, he wondered how long it had been since he'd even seen the old couch, or even been inside Minho and Newt's flat. High school had made it very difficult to avoid anyone whom you particularly disliked when they always sat and walked and ate and talked and _breathed_ in such close proximity to you, at any given time of day. Even more so when the one person who got under your skin most also happened to consider your best friend to be his best friend.

Things became easier after graduation, and even with the future ahead foggy and uncertain as Thomas scrambled to choose a path that would define his career, and entire life, going forward - before his brain had even fully developed - and the first real heartbreak of his life still weighing down on him every time he saw the notification, _Teresa Agnes has posted a picture for the first time in a while_ , he still felt like college would grant him a fresh start.

And then Newt decided to postpone his gap year.

In Thomas's mind, travelling through Europe for nine months before settling down at some Ivy League school in New York, or even any 800 year old institution he might have come across upon returning to England that struck his fancy, sounded massively preferable to studying an English degree just an hour's drive from their hometown for the next four years, and Newt certainly had both the money and grades to do as he wished; so why would he wish for this?

The next thing Thomas knew, Minho was explaining to Thomas, in that slow, deliberate voice he also frequently used to lecture Thomas; about Newt's enrolment in Glade University, about a promise he and Newt had made way back in elementary school, about being roommates next year...

The front door swung forward with too much force and smacked against the wall behind it, rattling the hinges and causing the key Thomas hadn't heard turning, to slip out of the lock and land with a metallic _ping_ as it struck the tile floor.

 _Speak of the devil_ , Thomas thought, and watched a dishevelled Minho saunter into the apartment, masking a hangover in a way only he ever could: Looking like a man aggressively dragged through the ringer, yet acting as though nothing at all had occurred in the last twelve hours since Thomas had seen him.

"Hell of a sight you are," Thomas called through the kitchen doorway as Minho stooped to collect the pile of metal on the floor, causing the latter to jump slightly.

"Hey," Minho smiled in greeting but his eyebrows bunched into a small frown, "What're you doing here?"

"Lost my keys last night. Came over to get my spare."

Minho approached the rack of mugs next to Thomas and filled a cup with whatever last drops of coffee remained in the pot.

"Sorry about that," Minho said, not sounding very sorry at all. He still seemed puzzled and after a second asked, "How'd you get in?"

Thomas gestured with a nod of his head down the hallway, "Your roommate."

Minho was not one to take a revelation like this lightly;

"Newt let you in? Like... He _allowed_ you to enter his apartment."

"Isn't it also your apartment?"

"Not when Newt's studying for an exam," Minho chuckled, "Then, it's short-notice eviction for me. Why do you think I was out last night?"

"You're out every night," Thomas snorted. He took the ring of keys - what must have been nearly fifty of them - that Minho offered him, and began scanning each one for a green tag. Minho was moving towards the couch now, taking note of the messed up cushions, unable to believe Thomas had actually been allowed to stay over. Thomas carried on, shouting from the kitchen, "You know, I don't even think you study... Or go to class for that matter."

Minho reclined with his hands behind his head, putting his feet up on the armrest, "Huh, that's really the pot telling the kettle."

Thomas froze where he stood, the spare key finally freed and resting in his hand, "What do you mean?"

"You're here going off on me about class when just last night you were oh so panicked about your chemistry exam this morning; and what're you doing? Standing there, drinking my coffee so high and mighty and- woah- Thomas! It's a joke man, where are you going?"

Thomas didn't even close the door as he rushed out, or hear Minho's soft "Oh" as the realisation hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the unexpectedly wonderful response to what was originally intended as a one shot, this will now be a full story that I figure out as I go along  
> Let's hope I can keep it up to a certain level of quality, even if it's not beta read


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas rhythmically knocked his forehead against the dining table, as though it might somehow allow the information to stick inside his mind. Unfortunately, it was more likely doing exactly the opposite.

"Come on dude, you know this," Minho groaned, flipping the textbook back to the start of the chapter for the tenth time.

"No Minho, I actually don't know this." Thomas momentarily lifted his head to glare at his friend, "Because if I did, neither of us would be here right now."

Minho gave a heavy exhale and collapsed with his own head on the table, the two of them resembling a still life titled "defeat".

Thomas' voice sounded muffled as he spoke directly into the wood, "How long have we been at this?"

Minho dragged one hand up to eye level and checked his wrist watch. "Approximately seventeen minutes."

Thomas wanted to scream. It didn't matter that his professor had been gracious enough to grant him a make-up test at the start of the new semester when he'd failed to show to his midterms. It didn't matter that Minho had volunteered to help him study. None of it was going to make a single ounce of difference to the end result: he was going to fail. Not that that was much of a surprise, everyone had expected it of him. His "mother" didn't bother to show her utter shock that he had even finished high school - and it wasn't as if he'd only scraped by, thank you very much. Thomas may not have been book smart in that traditional way Newt was, but he definitely wasn't stupid, and he was sick of being treated as though he were. Maybe that's why he chose chemical engineering as his major; to prove something. Unfortunately - and rather obviously - that had not helped his academic abilities in the slightest and even he knew that he was doomed from the moment he received his acceptance letter. A sense of dread had washed over him, like a security blanket representing his thought process of "I probably won't even get in" suddenly being yanked off his body.

But he went along with it. Bought the stationary, invested in a fuel card, loaded up his car with overpriced science textbooks and drove straight towards his own perpetual failure - which was located about 50 minutes away, at Glade University.

"Nothing's working Minho," Thomas sighed, giving the nearest leg of his dining table a childish kick, frightening Crank, who had been sleeping peacefully on his bed next to them, "What's the use."

"It's barely been twenty minutes shuckface, you give up now and I will lose any shred of respect I have for you."

"But how am I supposed-"

"Thomas, you've never given up on anything in your life. No matter how stupid the plan, you'd get your end goal if it killed you... or me, for that matter."

Thomas couldn't help smiling at that, but still felt the urge to refute his best friend. Minho cut in again before Thomas had the chance.

"Do you remember when we stayed at that Airbnb for your eighteenth birthday, drove all the way to California for it. How can you forget, the gas alone cost you three months pay from that shitty restaurant we slaved at for a year. Well, we got there, and the place was paradise compared to here. We're thinking nothing could go wrong; didn't expect to get completely hung up on our neighbour and that yapping dog of hers. We could barely think with the way he wouldn't shut up; took us a couple days to realize he was barking for food. Remember that bitch, Thomas? Honestly, why she got a dog in the first place if she wasn't planning on taking care of it- anyway. It's all we were talking about the whole week. Then, day before we're set to leave we're looking through the fence and see her kick the poor guy." Minho paused, almost steaming at the memory. Thomas could feel his own hands balling into fists until Minho carried on, "I'd never seen you run that fast before, practically vaulted over the fence like the ninjas we played at being as kids. Didn't even think, just did. And you know how that ended."

Thomas grinned down at Crank, snoozing peacefully again, belly full and long pink tongue hanging out of his mouth as he snored.

"Good times, man," Thomas said, "but what's your point?"

Minho shrugged, "It's just one example. I could name a hundred - stealing those bikes from Gally and Ben to enter the dirt rally, convincing Ava the house had actually been broken into after that party in high school, that whole thing with the llamas last year-"

Thomas shuddered at the mention of the third memory, "Yeah, and?"

"And?" Minho laughed, shaking his head, "And you're fucking fearless, dude. And you never give up, and after fifteen years of dealing with your insane plans that have almost killed us countless times and yet somehow always work out, I've got one of my own. But I'll warn ya, it's gonna be dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

Minho considered for a moment. "More than the boat race, less than the llama."

Thomas shuddered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... It only took seven months but I finally figured out what I want to do with this story. You can expect more frequent updates from here on in lads - but don't get your hopes up for a regular schedule ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Anyone worth opening the door for knew better than to expect Newt to actually answer it before noon; not that he heard it anyway.

"This is insane," Thomas groaned, "He probably isn't home, and we shouldn't even be here-"

Minho interjected with another hard pound of his fist against the front door, "Of course he's home, where the hell else would he be?"

Thomas knew that as well as Minho did. Newt had made his intention to sleep through the summer - and by extension, not be disturbed by the two of them - very clear more than a week ago. He probably was inside and just ignoring them. _Unless..._

Thomas turned from his determined friend and pulled his phone from his back pocket. He made quick work of opening his address book and scrolling quickly to the "N" section, only to scroll just beneath to the "O" section instead, stopping at a number saved as:

**ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES**

The contact had no picture or additional information beneath the little pencil icon, nothing but the mobile number. Thomas clicked it and held the phone up to his ear, certain he would be waiting for some time listening to the ring. As was usually the case with Thomas, he was completely wrong.

One ring.  
Two rings.  
Three rings.  
 _Click_. "Hello?"

Thomas first thought that he'd imagined the soft, slightly hoarse greeting. He didn't respond for a pause that stretched just too long, so the voice on the end repeated the word.

"Hey, hey Newt, um..." he stammered, "It's Thomas."

"I know."

"Right, yeah, of course," Thomas mentally facepalmed. Minho had forced the two of them to exchange numbers some time ago; Newt probably had Thomas's contact saved as something similar. "So, how's it going?"

Inside the house Newt laid under his duvet, face half pressed against his pillow, trying to get his barely conscious brain to form coherent sentences.

"Tommy, I'm- is this a legitimate emergency? I'm not awake enough for chit-chat just now"

"Oh, you were asleep. Hey, Min- Minho, shut up for one second dumbass."

Newt heard a disgruntled "What?" from a second voice, obviously Minho's.

Thomas addressed his impatient companion. "Newt just woke up." He shrugged, "Probably didn't even hear the knocking."

Newt cleared his throat loudly enough for Thomas to take notice and hold the phone back up to his ear. The increasingly impatient Newt managed to, against his better judgement, mumble two more words, "What knocking?"

"Well..." Thomas started, then abruptly stopped to wonder whether it was too late to get back in the car and forget this entire stupid plan. He didn't need to be a chemical engineer, the world surely had enough of them already. He would study ancient cultures, or criminology or damned veterinary science, and it wouldn't matter as he'd make just as much of a mess of any one of those majors as he had with chemistry. Even so, any option seemed preferable to asking Newt for help at that moment. Unfortunately, Minho did not seem to understand the seriousness of Thomas's potential humiliation and shouted into the phone when Thomas said nothing for several seconds.

"Open up, you dumb shank! We're right outside and I gotta take a leak."

The call cut off, which was honestly not all that surprising, and given a few more seconds Thomas would have had enough time to begin stressing about the implications of not having anyone to help him study for the upcoming test. But almost immediately, Thomas and Minho heard the padding of soft footsteps - barefeet on wooden floors - approaching them from inside the house.

Newt - wrapped entirely in a large, white duvet - refused to set even a toe outside the boundary of his own front door.

"Go ahead, you know where the loo is." Newt's voice still sounded throaty and tired.

"Actually," Minho started, which instantly put Newt on edge, "my desperate need for 'the loo' seems to have magically vanished; a miracle. Oh well, as long we're here might as well stop for a chat."

Newt didn't have a chance to protest before the two idiots at his door forced their way into the living room. They made a beeline for the soft L-shaped couch that Minho had often crashed on before.

Newt seemed to finally come up with a response to their audacity. "No!" he waddled in his duvet cocoon towards them, "No, no and absolutely not. If you've no good reason to be here you'd both better leave me in peace."

"Come on, Newt. That's no way to talk to your guests." Minho feigned offence and collapsed so as to take up half the space on the sofa.

Newt practically had steam whistling out of his ears. "You're not my guests. I did not invite you and I don't want you here."

"Harsh." Thomas chuckled and fell onto the sofa beside Minho, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

Minho made himself comfortable, leaning back with his hands behind his head while he tutted in agreement, "And to think, after we came all this way."

They both paused for effect before turning to look back at a Newt that was still too drowsy to be angry, but was certainly on his way down that road. Thomas thought that they might have pushed him too far and wondered whether he would actually throw them out. But after a minute of silent steaming, Newt simply rolled his eyes, then wiped some sleep out of them and spun around - large and comically dramatic duvet flapping about as he did so - to drag himself back to his bedroom.

"Fine, you win!" He shouted, then stopped and looked back at the two pests grinning in victory. "Help yourselves to some coffee or tea so long, and nothing else." He looked pointedly at Minho as he said the last two words, clearly throwing some warning or threat behind his words that Thomas didn't understand.

Only when Newt had disappeared into his room once more - with a particularly loud door slam on the way in - did Thomas see Minho shaking his head and muttering to himself.

"One time." He scoffed, and looked at Thomas while crossing his arms like a naughty child, "You break into the liquor cabinet one time, and now you can't be trusted with anything."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, "One time?"

Minho huffed as though the accusation was entirely offensive, but quickly gave up the charade. "Okay, you get caught after breaking into the liquor cabinet because like a slinthead you forgot to replace what you took... One time."

Thomas sniggered and Minho went out of his way to shove him as he hopped over the back of the couch again, heading for the kitchen.

"And besides," he carried on a little louder as he took down three mugs from one of the overhead cupboards, "it's not as if Newt was some damn saint in that situation."

"I can hear every word you are saying!" The faint yell came from behind Newt's closed bedroom door, and Thomas suspected Minho knew precisely how thin the walls in the house were because he started to smirk at the reaction he had gotten out of his friend. Not two seconds later did Newt reappear - dressed much more sensibly than before, and certainly looking more well put together than the hooligans heaping obscene amounts of sugar into their instant coffee in his kitchen.

Thomas took note of the smart-casual black blazer Newt wore over a plain button-up shirt, knowing that kind of style would have anyone melting in the heat outside within minutes, but the few times Thomas had been inside Newt's childhood home throughout his life, he had always found it to be consistently chilly; perpetually cooled by air conditioners and fans all year round.

_Probably a British thing_ , he thought. His attention was pulled back to Minho as it seemed the boy had not yet ceased to complain about the incident with Newt's parents several years back.

"I'm just saying, for all the - as he would say - 'nonsense' that golden boy here talks, he sure was quiet while I was picking that lock." Minho took a big swig of his coffee ad coughed, trying to cover up the fact that he had obviously just burnt his tongue. "Who knows, maybe Newtie here is just mad he didn't figure out how to open that cabinet without me."

"First of all," Newt began with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, "when have I ever said 'nonsense'? How bloody posh do you think I am?" Minho only smirked as an answer and Newt ignored him. "And further more, your shenanigans resulted in my parents not trusting me to stay home alone for any extended period of time for almost two years."

Minho made no attempt at subtlety as he leaned over to stage whisper into Thomas' ear, "So 'nonsense' is too posh, but 'shenanigans' is fine?"

Thomas couldn't hold back a chuckle despite the agitated look on Newt's face. Newt silently reached for his coffee - the only one without milk - but continued to glare at his best friend and... the other one.

Minho shrugged like the whole memory was nothing more than a faintly funny anecdote, "Ah well, my parents never trusted me anyway."

"Rightfully so." Newt took a long sip from his mug and within seconds his eyes were a little more alert and his voice less hoarse, "Now, will you two please explain to me how and why you plan to ruin my well-deserved holiday this time."

Minho went quiet, for probably the first time in his life. Thomas knew he'd have to man up now - not without a last minute taken to consider whether this was really worth it.

Newt was getting impatient. "Well, Tommy?"

Well, that did nothing to calm his nerves. In fact, it had rather the opposite effect.

"I uh-" Thomas cleared his throat and tried a little louder, "I have a... proposition for you."

"That's a big word, Tommy."

Minho tried to stifle a snort-laugh while Thomas did his best to keep his cool.

"Please, don't make this any harder," he sighed and - to his surprise - Newt stood straighter, giving Thomas his full attention. "I failed chem, I've got a makeup test in a couple weeks and I really, seriously need a tutor."

Minho expected Newt to laugh in their faces, Thomas feared worse; instead they all stood silently for at least a minute as Newt first scrunched up his eyebrows in a deep frown, quickly settled his face back into a neutral expression and then took another long sip of coffee.

Thomas held his breath and watched Newt's every minor movement, knowing his not-quite-friend-but-no-longer-enemy's next words could very well determine the course of his whole life. Newt set down his mug and crossed his arms. He looked towards Minho, then back at Thomas, and finally, up towards the ceiling, as though debating with himself.

He shrugged, "Yeah, alright. Why not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm so sorry about how long this took but I have this weird perfectionism thing about this story like... I don't want to post anything I'm not 100% certain is of quality which means literal months of rewrites at times  
> Anywayyy, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and don't hate me too much for the long waits <3


End file.
